Death in a Small Town

By Betty L. Alt

In the early 1930s, Sheriff Levi Taylor is called to Wallton’s creek where the body of a six-year old girl lies strangled. Citizens in the small town are horrified by the murder, and Taylor can find no suspects. Talking with the local doctor, Taylor discovers that over the past ten years there have been other dead children, all of the deaths attributed to accidents. Although the local banker offers a reward of $500 (a tremendous amount of money during the Depression years), no perpetrator is found. Then, another young child goes missing . . .

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Aug 10, 2020
• ISBN: 9781664123038

Betty L. Alt

Betty Alt is the author or co-author of numerous books, both fiction and nonfiction. She has an M.A. from Northeast Missouri State University and has taught at several colleges and universities in the U.S. and overseas. Alt is now retired and living in Tennessee.

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Copyright © 2020 by Betty L. Alt.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 08/07/2020

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T he setting for Death in a Small Town is a place in Colorado, where I lived or visited during my first twelve years. The creek, the houses, the alleys, the railroad tracks are as I remember them. The Methodist Church still sits at the top of the hill, and the cemeteries are still located near each end of the town. The sheriff is based on a distant relative who was a sheriff and whom I saw occasionally in the early 1930s. Today, all of the people I remember are gone from the small town, and my characters are drawn from those long dead and mostly forgotten.

This book is entirely a work of fiction. As far as I know, no children were murdered in my small town as portrayed during the books’ nearly eight-year time line. In my memories, the 1930s were a time when children could roam freely around the small town and wade n the cool water of the creek without any feeling of fear. However, in this tale, dark shadows lurk outside the safety of homes, and the town’s children become the victims of a disturbed mind.

The author wishes to thank both Sandra and Chris for the time they spent reading and commenting on the manuscript. Thanks also to the members of my family for their help and patience during the completion of this project.

Look into any man’s heart you please, and you will always find, in everyone, at least one black spot which he has to keep concealed.

—Henrik Ibsen, Pillars of Society, 1877

A s bad luck would have it, the three boys found the body. They had been told to stay away from the creek that ran through the south end of the small town, had even been warned that they would be swallowed up by quicksand and disappear from sight. However, on the hot afternoon of July 1934, the cloudless blue sky, the shade from cottonwood trees lining the creek bank, and the bubbling water was too tempting to ignore.

What’s that over there? John Bower called to his two friends as he wiggled his toes deeper into the cool sand of the creek bed.

Over where, J.B.? Tony Wells responded. I don’t see nothin’. Where you lookin’?

I don’t see nothin’ either, Wells’ brother, Toby, responded. He was a year younger than the other two and usually repeated whatever his brother said.

Under those willows and that other brush. The red color. It looks like a coat. Might be worth something. You two blind? Come on. Let’s see what it is.

The three slowly made their way across the creek, careful to keep from stepping in a hole and possibly losing their balance. Although the creek had only a little over twelve inches of water in it during the months of July and August, it was full of small rocks and had an uneven bottom. The boys knew that if they fell on the slippery rocks and got wet, they would have to make certain their clothes were dry before going home. Otherwise, a scolding from their mothers and possibly a heavy swat on the backside from their fathers would be the result.

As they got nearer, they could see that the red color was actually a bundle of something and protruding from it were two legs. Oh, God, J. B. exclaimed, abruptly drawing back and causing Tony Wells nearly to lose his balance.

What? What is it? Tony asked.

It’s a person. There’s a person lying there. Move back! It’s a drowned person, J. B. replied as he waved the other two back into the stream.

What person? Tony asked. Let me see, J.B. Let me see! He moved around Bower and pulled back a strand of willow branches that partially hid the body. It’s a little girl. Gee! It looks like the little Gower girl … you know the new minister’s littlest kid. What’s her name? Jenny … or something like that.

Let’s get out of here! Come on! Right now! J.B. yelled as he motioned Toby away from the body and back toward the opposite bank. We’re gonna have to tell someone. We’ve got to tell someone right now.

Reluctantly Tony let go of the branches and followed the other two boys across the creek where the three hurriedly donned the socks and shoes they had carefully placed in the shade of a tree. While they might be in trouble for playing in the creek, they were very aware that they could be in bigger trouble if their shoes were ruined. Money had been scarce during the past three years of the the Depression and although both the Bower and Wells family were lucky enough to have fathers working for the WPA, their small wages barely covered the two households’ monthly expenses. J.B. noted a small hole in the sole of one shoe and knew money would need to be available to have it half-soled. A new pair of shoes was out of the question.

Who we gonna tell, J.B.? Tony asked.

Yeh, who we gonna tell? Toby repeated.

J. B. rubbed his hand across his head, causing an unruly walnut brown curl to tumble into his dark eyes which, no matter what he had done, always had the look of complete innocence. Pushing the hair back, he looked at Tony and his little brother and thought how, except for the small age difference, they could almost be twins. Blonde hair, straight as a ruler and so light it appeared white was plastered to their heads with sweat. Days in the summer sun had scorched their faces and arms to a deep tan, and eyes so faded blue they seemed almost colorless peered anxiously at him. Apparently, the two had given any decision to him, and he knew he had to provide an answer. After all, he was considered the leader of the gang of three and needed to take charge.

"We could go up to the sheriff’s office, but I wonder if he would believe us. Might not be anyone there but old Mabel, and she’d call our moms first thing.

We could just go tell my mom and ask her to tell the sheriff."

That won’t work, Tony interrupted. We’d be in trouble. Even if we said we hadn’t been in the creek, she’d see our pants legs are wet. There must be somebody else.

Well, what about my Aunt Tillie? J.B. responded. She’d believe us about the body, and she wouldn’t nag us about being at the creek. You guys know my aunt. She’d know what to do.

The other two nodded. Almost everyone in the small town knew J.B.’s aunt. She and Norman Wellsby had eloped to Raton, New Mexico to be married. Raton didn’t require a marriage license, and many couples took the Raton route when they decided to tie the knot, especially if parents disapproved of the union. It had been rumored that Tillie was pregnant when she and Norm married; however, their baby girl, Eleanor, called Nellie by family members, was not born until fourteen months after the union which had left the gossips without their usual whispers of forbidden lust.

Frequently, the boys dropped by Tillie’s house after school, supposedly to play with the couple’s little girl who now was an adorable three-year-old with long blonde curls. The fact that Tillie usually had cookies or a pie in the pantry was not mentioned by anyone.

Good idea, J.B., Anthony said, and Toby echoed the sentiment.

Instead of going up Main Street, the boys ran through dusty gravel-strewn alleys for several blocks and then exited on a north street that faced the railroad tracks. The Wellsby house, which the couple rented, sat across from the tracks on a large lot shaded with boxelder trees. It had been built in the late 1890s and showed its age, the front porch sagging a little and its white siding with green trim needing a new coat of paint. Daily, the rumble of coal trains and the one passenger train caused its windows to vibrate and the floors to tremble. Still, the couple felt lucky to be able to afford the house, and Tillie dutifully tended a garden of vegetables, its outer edges a blaze of yellow marigolds and red zinnias. Near a sagging fence grew several large clumps of Bouncing Betties covered in white blossoms. Tillie tolerated them, even though she thought they were weeds, as they delineated her home from a vacant house which had fallen into disrepair years earlier.

Although they had selected Tillie to be the recipient of their news, the boys were hesitant to just blurt it out. For a few minutes they played with the small girl, but Tillie could see that something was amiss.

What is it? What have you three done now? She pushed a stray caramel-colored lock of hair off her forehead and looked from one boy to another. Placing a plate of cookies on the table, Tillie admonished them not to get crumbs on her recently laundered table cloth. Then she went to the ice box crammed in a corner of her small back porch to get a pitcher of iced tea. Like most in the town, Tillie’s husband made little money working in the nearby coal mines, but the one thing she felt they could afford, actually needed in the summer months, was ice. Three times a week the ice man drove his wagon to their house and always being careful of the dripping block toted it into the ice box.

Might as well tell me, Tillie insisted as she poured tea into glasses and set one before each boy. I know you’ve done something you shouldn’t have.

We’ve been down at the creek, J. B. began. We know we shouldn’t have gone there, but …

We found a body, Anthony blurted out. We found a body!

I was telling her, J.B. said angrily as he took a swipe at his friend. Let me tell her.

A body, Tillie interrupted. You found a body? A human body?

Well of course it was human, J.B. said, a disgusted look on his face. If it had been a skunk or coyote, we wouldn’t have come here. We came here so you could tell us what to do.

And so we wouldn’t get into trouble with our folks Toby added.

Tillie Wellsby was stunned. She wasn’t certain how she should reply. At first she thought the three were just trying to see how she’d react to their story. However, after a minute looking at all three faces, she could see that the boys were frightened and were being truthful. She also noticed the damp trouser bottoms on all three which confirmed that they had been at the creek. Sweat from running had dampened the hair of the boys and plastered it to their heads as if it had been painted on with a brush. In her nephew J.B.’s case, his brown hair was slowly drying and becoming a mass of curls – the curls being the bane of his existence as he was constantly teased about them at school.

We have to tell the sheriff, Tillie began hesitantly after a few minutes of silence. I’ll have to go there … to his office. I hope he’s not out somewhere in the county. Now, you three stay here. Stay here with Nellie. I’ll be as fast as I can, but it will take me a spell. You stay here! Understand? Don’t leave Nellie by herself.

The three boys nodded their agreement, and after taking off the flowered apron that protected her blue and white checkered dress from grime when cooking or cleaning, Tillie quickly changed house slippers for anklets and oxfords and again reminded the boys to watch her daughter. Scurrying down the street and around a corner, she was soon out of sight. The three boys sat in silence. After all, there was not much left to say.

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It was nearly an hour before Tillie and Sherriff Abel Taylor entered the kitchen. They had driven back to her home in his Ford sedan. The Wallton City Council and county commissioners had found the necessary funds to purchase three Ford automobiles for the small law enforcement department, one for Taylor and the others for the rest of the men. Still, the deputies’ vehicles were used only in times of emergency in the county or at night by the deputy who patrolled both Main and Sixth Street, especially on the outer edge of Sixth where several bars had sprung up after the repeal of Prohibition. Occasionally, a brawl would erupt at one of the taverns, and the deputy would have to haul someone back to sit out a night in jail.

While Wallton and its surrounding area had a population of nearly 23,000, crimes involving serious injury or death were rare. Each of the company towns adjacent to the county’s coal mines had their own law enforcement personnel to take care of any problems within their areas. Even in Wallton most crimes were of a minor nature, and the sheriff and six deputies usually patrolled on foot, doing ten-hour shifts, in or near the center of town.

Now tell me what you told Mrs. Wellsby, Taylor said quietly, and don’t all talk at once.

Both Anthony Wells and his little brother looked at John Bower who began hesitantly. Well, we were all down in the creek … I know we shouldn’t have been, but it was hot …

Fine, Taylor interrupted. I don’t care why you three were there. Just tell me what you think you found.

We don’t think, J.B. insisted. We saw a body … a little girl. It was just lying at the edge of the bank in the weeds … The other two nodded in agreement.

You didn’t touch the body, did you?

No, Sheriff, we didn’t touch it. We didn’t want to touch it! Again the other two boys nodded in agreement.

Taylor looked at the boys for a minute, noting their disheveled appearance and the streaks of dirt on their faces left by perspiration. They were not lying. It was obvious that they had found something in the creek, and they were scared.

Okay, I believe you saw something. I’m not sure what, but this is what I want you to do. You stay here with Mrs. Wellsby. He looked at Tillie who made no objection to his comment. I’m going down to the creek and take a look. I don’t want you three running around town and talking about a body until I know what’s down there. I don’t want the whole town upset until I know for sure what you saw. When I know, I’ll come back, and you can go home. You understand me?

All three boys answered, Yes, and sat quietly as Tillie walked Taylor to the door.

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It was the body of a small girl lying on her side in the shallow water and partly covered by a willow branch, one arm cradling her head. Taylor knew immediately who she was, the six-year-old child of Mary and David Gower, and knew he would have the dreaded job of telling her parents the sad news. Gently pushing the willow branch aside, he squatted near the body, careful not to get the seat of his trousers wet. For